So we lobbed in to Memphis, in the swing of our road trip down south.
The town looked a bit careworn, with a rough gentility about it. The architecture was grand, but the place was quiet.
So we had to find some honest blues and southern food to get things going. Beale Street is the main drag where the blues bars, grill houses, and diners coalesce.
So the first place was the best.
A diner that had a bar next door, playing stomping blues, a blind man on a harmonica, dude thrashing a ‘lectric geetar, and a nonchalant drummer. Perfect.
That was the first night.
Then Graceland, and the Civil Rights Museum to come….